That they were insane was quite obvious. Every time they attacked one, he or she muttered something about being “tainted by the Scourge”, which was quite ridiculous.
Three of them stood chatting amongst themselves in an alcove filled with books, and Tirasa smiled as she caught the fleeting look of delight on Taunus’ face as his eyes scanned the library. Though these mad humans all wore robes, they had killed enough of them in their trek through the lengthy halls to deduce which were fighters and which were magic-users. Raelis was, as usual, cloaked in shadows, as she was, to her left, and she turned her face to him.
As the two assassins moved slowly forward to their respective targets without so much as a signal or word, Tirasa though it immensely strange yet incredibly gratifying that they had come to this level of attunement with one another. As their poisoned blades slid silently across two fleshy necks at precisely the same moment, it was a deadly ballet she and Raelis danced as their targets stood blinking in shock. Raelis moved to the third, a bald monk with a headband, as Taunus’ arrows rained down upon him, while she and Ithera, Taunus’ owl, finished off the mage before her.
“We are doing very well,” Raelis remarked as they searched the limp bodies. “Better than I expected.”
Tirasa chuckled. “Was there ever any doubt?”
He smiled and then slid back into the shadows, ably seeking out their next set of targets.
*********
A hint of morning light peeped through the tower’s thick glass windows, and Tirasa blinked and rolled over. Looking up, she witnessed the sun’s steady rise over the hillside, its affectionate fingerless rays turning the sky a florid blood red at its ascent, which then faded to a gentler shade of pink, to then disperse completely.
Turning over once again, her gaze met that of a steady colorless stare in a pale moonlike face. Awake and prepared at any sign of sleeplessness, was he. As any good assassin would be, Tirasa nodded to herself. Thoughts of the previous evening’s exploration with the Talons came soon to her mind, all the joy of their deadly journey through the monastery’s halls, and their eventual devastating defeat at the hands of the Scarlet Champion. She spoke, her voice a hoarse whisper.
“Myrokos, what do you know of the Scarlet Monastery?”
He smiled, and then smirked. “You haven’t been talking to the correct people, Tirasa. Information on them is easily found, if you know where to look.” His fingers came forward and brushed a long strand of violet hair from her brow.
Her eyes narrowed. “Very nice. I suppose I shall have to get some salt to massage you with.” She looked pointedly to the Quel’dorei’s chest, which was decorated with more than a few crimson stripes, still fresh and slightly oozing from scant hours before.
“I am quite familiar with those sort of tactics, night flower, and what you would do to me I would hardly consider torture.”
“You’re not going to talk.”
Myrokos merely blinked at her, his face serene.
“You’re despicable.”
He leaned forward and softly pressed his mouth to hers, his tongue sliding teasingly across her lips, and she responded in turn, vowing to herself to seek information elsewhere. Later.
Posted by Tirasa at 10:20 AM 3 February 2005